


Sweet Season

by sophiahelix



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-04-29
Updated: 2002-04-29
Packaged: 2017-10-19 12:55:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/201076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiahelix/pseuds/sophiahelix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose; most of the time you choose between the two."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Season

**Author's Note:**

> Post-ep for "William"

The first day she wakes up at six-thirty, and makes herself not expect the knock at the door. _Don't come on Monday,_ she told her mother. _I think I'll take the day off and go to the park with him or something._ She goes to work and stays until eight at night.

The second day a young couple comes by about the crib. The blue-eyed young man gives her a fifty and hefts the box on his shoulder, smiling at his gently rounded wife. She gives them the mobile too, and stops herself from pressing clothes and toys on them. They're poor and young, but they don't need charity. They take the mobile and thank her with kind smiles. They don't ask questions.

The third day she finds another jar of mashed peas in the back of the cabinet and puts it in the paper bag of things she's taking to the food bank this weekend. Stage Two, says the print, but the baby on the label doesn't look any older than on Stage One. The ageless Gerber child, forever smiling.

The fourth day Doggett comes to see her at work. Neutral ground, she knows, precluding an emotional outbreak on her part. Smart man, Doggett. She's teaching a class and she dismisses him through the window with a little frown and a little head shake. He leaves too quickly.

The fifth day her mother calls, asking about the new babysitter. She pretends the line has gone bad and unplugs the phone. Subterfuge was never a strength of hers. She keeps sifting through her desk and finds two more pictures to go in the fire safe.

The sixth day she wakes up crying again at dawn. She hitches a breath and wipes her face off with the sheets, then reaches for the pill bottle. She stops herself from remembering the nightmare and closes her eyes, reciting the multiplication tables in her head. She's asleep by the 13's.

The seventh day she goes to their park and sits on their bench, sorting carefully through her memories. His first swing. Crawling on the grass. Making sand messes. A beesting on his fat, soft cheek. Holding him feeding him putting him to bed singing reading kissing and the memories are too fast now and this has to stop. She stands up, shaking, and dives a hand in her pocket, squeezing her keys until the images are controlled by pain. She blinks, absorbing her tears before they fall.

The eighth day her mother comes to the door at six-thirty. She knocks, then tries her keys, but there's a new deadbolt on the door she can't undo. Her mother doesn't stop knocking and calling her cell for nearly an hour, and she's late to work.

The ninth day she finds a card from Monica in her mailbox. The black and white picture on the front is tasteful and pleasant, just some grass blowing by a white-capped ocean, but she throws it in the trash without opening it, because Monica always says exactly the wrong thing.

The tenth day she falls asleep in front of the television during Wheel of Fortune, and wakes up to see her father in the chair she moved across the room eight years ago. She closes her eyes before he can say anything, and when she opens them again, he's gone.

The eleventh day she starts a letter to Mulder. _Dear Mulder. I have -- Dear Mulder. What I -- Dear Mulder. Can you -- Dear Mulder._ Dear Mulder. The paper balls collect on the floor, and her pen runs out of ink.

The twelfth day her mother comes to her work, escorted by two exasperated guards. She finishes her class with her mother staring through the glass, then meets her in the hall, careful to keep the guards with them. She tells her mother calmly that she'll talk to her in private tonight, then goes back to her students. That night she keeps driving through Virginia until the light comes back.

The thirteenth day it rains and she runs. Her shoes fill up with the mud of the park, her baggy clothes growing heavy with the weight of water. Her cheeks are warm and wet, cold and wet, as the tears and the rain mingle. _Dear Mulder. I have sent him on ahead. Don't look for him. I won't look for you._

The fourteenth day she packs her car in the morning dark. Clothes, shampoo, false identity papers the gunmen gave her years ago, before -- before. They drive up a minute after she leaves, Doggett and her mother, and from around the block she sees the lights in her apartment turn on, false life in the empty rooms. She leaves before they come out again, but not before she sees her mother's face at the window. It makes her drive faster.

The fifteenth day she burns the first picture. He is in her mind now, forever innocent, forever untouched. She will not see him hurt, or taken, or lost. He will live safe and away, and when they tease him in second grade or break his heart in seventh grade or abduct him in ninth grade she will not be there. She can never be the one to let him be hurt.

The sixteenth day she sends Mulder an e-mail. _Dear Mulder. I've taken care of the baby. We'll never need to worry about him, because he's somewhere not even you nor I could find him. Please don't try. I will be out of touch for a while. Dana._ The mail bounces back later that afternoon, address not found.

The seventeenth day she wakes up as the manager lets Doggett into her room. She doesn't say anything while he packs her suitcase, and they ride together in his truck for twenty miles before he speaks. _Your mom --_ he says. _Shut up_ , she tells him. He turns the radio on and she tries to figure out how she'll get her car back from the motel parking lot

The eighteenth day she eats the breakfast her mother has cooked in anger, slamming the pans on the stove and the eggshells in the sink. She thought her mother's tidal fury was spent yesterday, but she is still fierce and tense today, waiting for her daughter to speak. She eats her mother's eggs and drinks her mother's juice and avoids her mother's eyes.

The nineteenth day she goes home, leaving her mother silent and worn out by tears and shouting. The first of the month has come and gone and she'll have to pay a late fee on her rent.

The twentieth day she doesn't get out of bed. She dreams that Mulder has come home, and holds out his arms to her. _I've found you, Dana_ , he says to her. She turns away from his tender gaze and pushes, hard. _I didn't want to be found_ , she tells him. _You were supposed to go._ Dream Mulder grows small and weak, until she holds him in her arms, cradling him to her breast. _I told you to leave me_ , she says.

The twenty-first day it rains again, and no one comes to see her.


End file.
